how the driver of the car Sharon had struck was badly hurt and in the hospital, but not dead. He didn’t go into detail about what would happen if the man were to die—she didn’t need to hear that. But he did try to explain what a detox center was, and why Sharon couldn’t leave the facility to visit Natasha, and why Tash couldn’t go there to visit her.
The kid had looked skeptical when Frisco told her that when Sharon came out of detox, she wouldn’t drink anymore. Frisco shook his head. A five-year-old cynic. What was the world coming to?
He took both his glass and the bottle back through the living room and outside onto the dimly lit landing. The sterile environment of air-conditioned sameness in his condo always got to him, particularly at this time of night. He took a deep breath of the humid, salty air, filling his lungs with the warm scent of the sea.
He sat down on the steps and took another sip of the whiskey. He willed it to make him relax, to put him to sleep, to carry him past these darkest, longest hours of the early morning. He silently cursed the fact that here it was, nearly 0300 again, and here he was, wide awake. He’d been so certain when he’d climbed into bed tonight that his exhaustion would carry him through and keep him sound asleep until the morning. He hadn’t counted on Tasha’s 0200 reveille. He drained his glass and poured himself another drink.
Mia’s door barely made a sound as it opened, but he heard it in the quiet. Still, he didn’t move as she came outside, and he didn’t speak until she stood at the railing, looking down at him.
“How long ago did your dog die?” he asked, keeping his voice low so as not to wake the other condo residents.
She stood very, very still for several long seconds. Finally she laughed softly and sat down next to him on the stairs. “About eight months ago,” she told him, her voice velvety in the darkness. “How did you know I had a dog?”
“Good guess,” he murmured.
“No, really… Tell me.”
“The pooper-scooper you lent me to clean up the mess in the courtyard was a major hint,” he said. “And your car had—how do I put this delicately?—a certain canine perfume.”
“Her name was Zu. She was about a million years old in dog years. I got her when I was eight.”
“Z-o-o?” Frisco asked.
“Z-u,” she said. “It was short for Zu-zu. I named her after a little girl in a movie—”
“It’s a Wonderful Life,” he said.
Mia gazed at him, surprised again. “You’ve seen it?”
He shrugged. “Hasn’t everybody?”
“Probably. But most people don’t remember the name of George Bailey’s youngest daughter.”
“It’s a personal favorite.” He gave her a sidelong glance. “Amazing that I should like it, huh? All of the war scenes in it are incidental.”
“I didn’t say that….”
“But you were thinking it.” Frisco took a sip of his drink. It was whiskey. Mia could smell the pungent scent from where she was sitting. “Sorry about your dog.”
“Thanks,” Mia said. She wrapped her arms around her knees. “I still miss her.”
“Too soon to get another, huh?” he said.
She nodded.
“What breed was she? No, let me guess.” He shifted slightly to face her. She could feel him studying her in the darkness, as if what he could see would help him figure out the answer.
She kept her eyes averted, suddenly afraid to look him in the eye. Why had she come out here? She didn’t usually make a habit of inviting disaster, and sitting in the dark a mere foot away from this man was asking for trouble.
“Part lab, part spaniel,” Frisco finally said, and she did look up.
“You’re half-right—although cocker spaniel was the only part I could ever identify. Although sometimes I thought I saw a bit of golden retriever.” She paused. “How did you know she was a mix?”
He lowered his eyebrows in a look of mock incredulousness. “Like you’d ever get a dog from anywhere but the pound…? And probably from death row at the pound, too, right?”
She had to smile. “Okay, obviously you’ve figured me out completely. There’s no longer any mystery in our relationship—”
“Not quite. There’s one last thing I need you to clear up for me.”
He was smiling at her in the darkness, flirting with her, indulging in lighthearted banter. Mia would have been amazed, had she not learned by now that Alan Francisco was full of surprises.
“What are you doing still awake?” he asked.
“I could ask the same of you,” she countered.
“I’m recovering from my talk with Tasha.” He looked down into his glass, the light mood instantly broken. “I’m not sure I helped any. She’s pretty jaded when it comes to her mom.” He laughed, but there was no humor in it. “She has every right to be.”
Mia looked over toward Frisco’s condo. She could see the flicker of the television through a gap in the curtains. “She’s not still up, is she?”
He sighed, shaking his head no. “She needs the TV on to sleep. I wish I could find a solution to not sleeping that’s as easy.”
Mia looked down at the drink in his hand. “That’s probably not it.”
Frisco didn’t say anything—he just looked at her. To Mia’s credit, she didn’t say another word. She didn’t preach, didn’t chastise, didn’t lecture.
But after several long moments when he didn’t respond, she stood up.
“Good night,” she said.
He didn’t want her to leave. Oddly enough, the night wasn’t so damned oppressive when she was around. But he didn’t know what to say to make her stay. He could’ve told her that he wasn’t like Sharon, that he could stop drinking when and if he wanted to, but that would have sounded exactly like a problem drinker’s claim.
He could’ve told her he was strong enough to stop—he just wasn’t strong enough right now to face the fact that the Navy had quit on him.
Instead, he said nothing, and she quietly went inside, locking her door behind her.
And he poured himself another drink.
CHAPTER SIX
MIA’S LEGS BURNED as she rounded the corner onto Harris Avenue. She was nearly there, down to the last quarter mile of her run, so she put on a burst of speed.
There was construction going on just about a block and a half from the condo complex. Someone was building another fast-food restaurant—just what this neighborhood needed, she thought.
They’d
